The Death Fic
by epicfailpig
Summary: Straight lines. Paranoia. Lost Hope. - It isn't called the Death Fic for nothing.  Multi-chapter, AU, OCs... and no slash. What more could you ask for?


**A/N: **So I just realized that I have a fanfiction account and that I have a fanfiction to put on it. Yay.

WARNING!  
>"The Death Fic" isn't called the Death Fic because it's about hugging fluffy rabbits. Several people will die in this story, people that you may or may not like. On that note, if you have any emotional attachment to any of the characters from White Collar, then this story is not for you. Go back to the story list you were just looking at, find a story about Neal Caffrey sitting in a sauna with nothing but a towel and a fluffy kitten in his lap, and read that.<p>

Also, if you have any issues with any of the following:  
>+ OCs<br>+ Alternate Universes  
>+ Illogical Death Scenes<br>+ Crazy People  
>+ Chicken Fingers<p>

Then you were despise this story. Trust me; you will.

And now, I give you all... the Death Fic.

**_Alex_**

A light-hearted tingle sounded from above as Alex stepped through the restaurant's doors, the click of her heels sounding as they hit the floor. Instantly, a warm breeze rushed to meet her, driving the cold back into the New York air. A dozen ornate lights, each trying to outshine the other, crowded around her, blinding her with unwelcome hospitality. The bare scent of overcooked food wavered in the air and on the breath of the restaurant's many occupants; though blunt and strong, it did not cast a stinking smell. The laughing of families from the different rows of seats, the miscellaneous sporting goods… it was a restaurant that didn't even try to pretend maturity.

As she stepped across the smooth floor, Alex could only think of how terribly public the place was. Unpracticed, unorthodox… it was just so childish, for lack of a better word. Had she gotten the wrong address? Looking around the restaurant, she dug in her purse for a slip of paper and, upon finding it, peeled the note open. Sitting at the top, in big, bold letters, was her answer: _the Oakwood Grill, 2145._ Curiously, she glanced over at clock hanging limply near the door. Nine-forty-five exactly.

"Out of all the places…" she began, her words trailing back into her thoughts. How on earth could her client want to meet here, in what was perhaps the _worst_ possible place to make an exchange in the entire city of New York? She had a strict line of semi-decent clientele, and even the lowest end of her trade could at least appreciate a quiet place void of possible witnesses. And wasn't her client the Silhouette, a thief whose name had already begun to spread, despite his new face? She watched warily as a man wearing a police officer's uniform passed by. Surely this was all a joke. In one swift movement, she spun on her heels and headed straight for the door.

"Well, well, well! If it isn't Miss Alex!"

Alex stopped, her hand resting on the door, ready to turn. One motion, and she could leave the cheap place without a glance back… but curiosity got the better of her. Slowly, she turned, not sure who she might see behind her – an old client, perhaps? Her eyes met the speaker, and she frowned, her eyebrow arched up in confusion.

Peeping out from behind a wall was a man, with a face no older than twenty-eight years. A worn T-shirt depicting what appeared to be some sort of rock band hung off his rather thin shoulders. He wore jeans, which showed the same wear and tear; the knees were white and thin, tempted to break apart at any given moment. His blue eyes shimmered deviously. Growing a smile on his face, he brushed away a few strands of unnaturally red hair from his face.

"I was wonderin' whether you'd show up or not," the young man stated. Alex watched, surprised, as he made his way toward her with brisk steps. "I'm Aaron Caldwell," he said, a hand outstretched. Alex took note of the name. Now why did it sound familiar…?

Noticing Alex's confusion, he added, "We talked on the phone, remember?" He held his other hand up to his ear, pinky and index finger pointing outward in a rather butchered phone shape. She ran her mind back to the last few calls she had received, going through each client she had spoken with.

"I thought that name sounded familiar," The memories of a simple conversation came back to her, echoing in her mind. Hiding a frown with the flash of a smile, she took the young man's hand in hers and gave it a vigorous shake. "Alex."

"Right, right." Caldwell said, "You told me before." Smiling, he turned around and began walking quickly toward the other side of the restaurant, gesturing for Alex to follow him. "I already got us a table," he explained as they dodged past several of the restaurant's patrons. He made his way around a corner, disappearing into the back of the restaurant. Alex followed, making the turn herself; however, Caldwell was gone, vanished into thin air. She glanced around the tables, and, out of the corner of her eye, spotted Caldwell again, waving from one of the most concealed booths.

With a sigh, she walked over to the table and sat down, a plastic smirk kept neatly on her face. She didn't particularly enjoy dealing with people still stuck in the education system – they were always too confident for their own good. And besides, this kid… well, there was no way she could take him seriously, not even if he suddenly appeared in a tuxedo before her.

A waitress appeared before them, two drinks sitting on a teetering tray. She set the first glass down on the table by Alex, and had only just grabbed the second in her hands when Caldwell leapt up and snatched the glass from her grasp with a quick, "Thank you!" Startled, the waiter stared back, unsure what to do; Alex, sole witness to the spectacle, held in the steam threatening to escape from her. Did this kid have _any_ manners? If this was her new clientele, she needed another line of work.

The waiter backed away and scurried off, leaving Alex alone with the toddler. She glared as he gulped down a large volume of water – strawless – and, finished, let the glass fall onto the table with a heavy thud. Smiling, he let out a happy sigh, and, turning to Alex, attempted to hide the obvious smirk he grew at her disdain.

"What?" He asked, feigning innocence at his ignorant behavior. Alex glared at him with a look of complete disgust. Why would the Silhouette employ someone of such low caliber? Perhaps he had been in desperate need of a frontman… or of a disposable grunt. In any case, such pig-like manners would only land this man a bullet in the head, a death which she was certain she wouldn't mind.

Sighing, Alex moved the conversation back on-topic. "So…" she began, letting her eyes wander along the edges of the restaurant. "Cop bar… couple hundred witnesses… good idea." She casted a sarcastic smirk in his direction, allowing it to sink in before she moved her gaze to something more worthwhile of her interest than the child before her.

"You think this is a bad choice?" Caldwell asked, "But… but they've got chicken fingers here! Half of if you buy two!" He gestured to a large picture of food plastered on the cover menu and gave a short chuckle, slowing to a stop once he realized that Alex was not laughing with him.

"… Alright, listen." Caldwell muttered. His voice had grown much more serious, lowering in volume, "This restaurant happens to be one of the most inconspicuous places in all of New York. You've got cameras looking around the back lot because of the store next door and enough people to scare off any grunts or pickpockets that might come wandering in. It's the safest place, really. And if you think those cops are even looking for suspicious activity," he added, pointing towards two men engrossed in a football game at the bar, "then you're too paranoid for your own good."

"See… Caldwell," Alex began, "Paranoia isn't actually all that bad to have. It happens to keep you alive." She casted a wary glance at a passing family, watching them disappear behind a corner. Moving her attention to the glass of untouched water beside her, she picked up the glass and took a sip. Tap water. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from spitting the disgusting liquid back into the glass.

"And it can kill you all the same," Caldwell answered back, reaching for his water. He attempted to take another large sip, only to realize that he had emptied the glass some time ago and set it down on the table again.

Alex glared at the man on the other side of the table. "… Where is it, Caldwell?" A frown fell on Caldwell's face. Slowly, he dug into his pocket, pulling out a small black box a moment later. With a flick of his fingers, he sent the box sliding across the table, stopping just on the edge of the other side.

Slowly, Alex picked up the box and opened it with the tips of her fingers. Sitting inside on a bed of soft, white fabric was a beautiful diamond, shimmering in the dim lighting of the restaurant. Alex stared at the gem in wonderment.

Now _this_ was what she had come here for.

Standing up, Alex placed the box delicately into her purse. Caldwell stood up as well, a wary look on his face.

Turning to Caldwell, Alex smiled. "It's a pleasure doing business with you."


End file.
